As My Lord Wishes, A Thieves in Time story 9
by Orion Lyonesse
Summary: As a king, Blake was magnificent. As a slave, Avon was quietly beautiful. A/V, A/B. Rated M for sex and child abuse. Follows 'Boys Night Out.'


_A/N: This is Chapter 9 of __Thieves in Time__. If you haven't read 'Safe' and 'Boys Night Out', or it's been a long time since you read them, please go back and read them at this point, first, so you'll know where the characters are in their relationship, and, second, because they are the last pieces of fluff and sweetness and light you'll get for awhile!  
_

_By now in my writing of Thieves, the characters were alive to me and often directing the story. Sometimes it was as though I, as the writer, was really only a transcriptionist, writing down what they dictated to me, or, even better, that I was watching my very own television show, writing down the actions of my characters so that my friends could see the show too._

_This chapter, however, came out of the blue, the show playing along in my head, getting darker and darker. Finally, I had to shout, "Enough!" to them, cutting the action off. After things had quieted down a bit, I let them start up the show again. You'll see what I mean as you read._

_WARNING: Rated Mature, for sex, violence, and child abuse. _

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As a king, Blake was magnificent! With his regal, broad-shouldered bearing, ruddy curly head of hair, infectious booming laughter and gracious big-hearted mannerisms, he fit anyone's romanticized vision of a medieval ruling monarch, somewhere in Henry the Eighth's timeframe. His garb didn't detract from the picture, either. The parti-colored tunic of russet and deep forest green was of velvet and fit his large frame comfortably. Royal purple full cape and hose added to the colorful image. An unembellished gold circlet warred for precedence with his curls and a gold large-linked chain draped around his neck. The brown leather belt around his generous girth was studded with bosses and engraved platelets. The tang was long and the end capped with gold. In all, a vision of kingly splendor.

The slave in attendance stood silently by, his dark eyes trying not to stray uninvited upon the king's person. Dressed only in the proper slave's short black tunic, clasped at the shoulders, he was barefooted and quietly beautiful, from his sculptured alabaster face to his elegant, long-fingered hands to his quiet, passive bare feet. The night black folds of his tunic set of his shapely legs. His barely contained aura of strength and look of proud arrogance drew the king's eyes immediately.

At the king's signal, the slave presented himself by kneeling, head bowed, before his regal presence, waiting to be recognized. The king looked down, bemused, at the top of the slave's ebony hair. Smiling with anticipation, he replayed the man's graceful sensuous walk in his mind, then asked, "What is your name, slave?"

Without raising his head, the slave replied in a low throaty voice, "Kerr Avon I am called, your majesty."

"And, Kerr, have you always been a slave?" queried the king.

"No, my lord," answered Avon. He did not elaborate.

"Rise and look at me, slave Kerr," Blake commanded.

In one easy motion, Avon rose to face the king, his dark eyes downcast, as was proper.

Blake, however, wanted more. "Look at me, slave."

Slowly the dark lashes came up, followed by electrifying deep brown eyes that captured and held the softer brown eyes of the king.

"Yes, your majesty. Whatever you command, your majesty," was his oh-so-proper and slightly insolent reply.

"Whatever I command?" questioned the monarch, raising one elegant eyebrow.

"Yes, my lord, anything at all." The slave's voice had taken on a sultry shading that wasn't lost upon the king.

"Then I command you to divest yourself of that blasted tunic," he said loudly with impatience, but there was a twinkle of humor in his eyes.

The slave's eyes never left the king's as his delicately-shaped hands languidly undid the fastenings at each shoulder. Freed, the brief garment fluttered down Avon's body to form a pool of night about his feet.

The king's eyes, however, were caught by the motion of first Avon's hands, then by the descending garment as it bared Avon's body in slow motion. It was evident from his smile of pleasure that he liked what he saw.

Swallowing once, the king reached out a tentative hand to first touch Avon's cheek, then descend to caress his neck and brush back-handed across his chest. It was there that he discovered Avon was breathing a little harder than necessary and faintly shaking.

Realizing the one was from desire and the other from the cold, Blake reached out to draw Avon to his body, enfolding them both in his great purple cape. Avon gasped in surprise, made a brief abortive start of resistance, then stilled, clasped to Blake's velvet tunic and powerless to change anything.

Blake was quite happy about their positions, when he heard Avon's voice, muffled by the folds of his cape and tunic, say, "My lord, your belt."

Puzzled, Blake raised and tilted his head, as though the motion would reveal Avon's meaning to him. When it didn't, he placed his hands on Avon's bare shoulders and moved him gently a few inches away to get a better look at Avon's face.

"My belt? What about my belt?" he inquired too loudly of someone just inches from his face.

"It…hurts, my lord," was Avon's hesitant answer.

Looking down, both were surprised to note the cold, hard bosses and plates which had already left their impressions on Avon's naked body.

Immediately, Blake was contrite and solicitous. Removing his cape, he placed it about Avon's shoulders, where it covered the object of Blake's lust and pooled slightly on the floor.

Standing indecisively before Avon, he muttered to himself, "Now what do I do?"

"If I may, my lord, please allow me to remove the belt," came Avon's suggestive answer.

"Oh, yes, I guess that does follow," he allowed. To take back control of the situation, he commanded, "And be quick about it, slave."

A tiny smile briefly touched Avon's lips, but vanished before Blake could be sure of it. Allowing the enveloping cape to fall from his shoulders, Avon stepped forward and began to unbuckle the long belt. To avoid dropping the belt, it was necessary for Avon to put his arms around the king, which they both warmed to.

Folding the belt carefully and with great concentration, Avon raised his eyes to Blake's and smiled insolently as he presented it to him on his two opened palms, like a magician's dove, plucked from the air.

The king was affronted. Swiftly unfolding the great belt, he looped it quickly about Avon's neck and tightened it snugly.

Surprise, great fear, and defiance warred in Avon's eyes as his hands came up automatically to counteract the pressure around his neck.

"Stand still, slave," Blake roared.

Staring into Blake's blazing eyes, caught like prey by a predator, Avon froze, his hands falling bonelessly to his sides.

Leaning forward, using the belt in his hands for balance, Blake brought his face to within inches of Avon's. Slightly softer, Blake growled, "You're mine, slave, and I would have you tonight." Then he waited for an answer.

Unable to swallow, Avon's voice came harsh and low, "As my lord wishes, in all things."

Satisfied with his response, Blake leaned back, releasing the tightness of the belt about Avon's neck, but did not uncoil it or release it from his grip.

Avon drew in a gasping breath, his eyes asking for permission and being granted leave to rub his throat under the belt. His breathing became less harsh and labored, but did not slow. It was evident that both of them were now thoroughly aroused. Avon's erection was of course clearly and seductively in view. Blake was fully clothed still, but the hose could not hold his arousal in and his tunic, though loose fitting, bulged interestingly.

"I believe I require undressing, slave," Blake commanded. "But," he cautioned as he let go the belt, "I would have you leave my belt where it is. Understood, slave?" he queried, with a tilt of his head.

"Yes, my lord. As you wish," came the subdued, resigned reply in Avon's low velvety voice. His eyes surveyed his king, considering how to go about disrobing this regal monument.

Kneeling carefully, lest he dislodge the belt, Avon lifted the hem of the velvet tunic and began to pull down the bright purple hose beneath. As he slowly peeled them off Blake's hips, he came face to head with Blake's rampant manhood. Unable to resist, Avon flicked it with his tongue, bringing a gasp from Blake and a secret smile from Avon. Greatly daring of the king's wrath, Avon surrounded the head with his own mouth, all the while continuing to slide the hose down Blake's well-shaped legs.

Blake froze. Even his breathing stilled for a moment in surprise, pleasure, yearning. Unable to help himself, he clutched at Avon's head beneath his tunic and tried, convulsively, to control Avon's movements. A strangled sound and a thrashing of hands broke through Blake's desire. He released Avon's head, allowing the man to breathe. The interruption, however, couldn't stay Blake's rising response to the sensations Avon was causing. As Avon returned to suckling Blake's cock, Blake came with a bellow of surprise and release. Quickly swallowing Blake's semen, careful not to soil the velvet tunic or the hose, Avon licked his way off the pulsing shaft and finished stripping the hose from Blake's legs. When he came to the leather slippers on Blake's feet, he tapped first one, then the other ankle, causing Blake to raise each foot in turn to be stripped, rather like a large, obedient draft horse raising his enormous hoof to be shod.

As he rose to stand before Blake, Avon draped the purple hose over his pale arm and, carefully keeping his face blank, looked up into Blake's slightly glazed eyes. Avon's smile of satisfaction lurked just beneath the surface, though his eyes crinkled a bit.

Avon held his breath as Blake stated mildly, reaching to caress the man's inky hair, "That was a bit presumptuous, don't you think? However," he continued as Avon flinched ever so slightly, "I did enjoy it sufficiently to let it pass without disciplining you." Avon sighed lightly with relief, then jumped, as Blake boomed, "Just don't be so presumptuous again." Avon bowed his head in acceptance.

Satisfied that he had Avon's undivided attention and obedience, he gracefully withdrew his hand from Avon's hair and, stepping back, directed, "Now, take off my chain, and place it around your own neck."

Avon stilled. He couldn't move or speak for a moment. His arms fall to his side and his eyes went opaque.

As Avon remained mute and unmoving, Blake roared, "This does not please me, slave. I require your obedience. Take the chain and put it around your neck, Kerr. I command it!"

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Vila struggled muzzily from his slumber, to Avon's cries in the bed beside him. He came fully, painfully, awake as Avon, thrashing about, landed an elbow on Vila's chin. Vila tried to restrain him but that only seemed to make him struggle harder. Reaching for Avon's shoulders, Vila clasped them tightly and shook the wide-eyed distraught man, all the while shouting his name. Minutes passed before Vila felt the struggling cease and the eyes cleared in recognition. Cautiously, he released his bruising grip on Avon's shoulders and slumped back with relief.

"What the hell was that all about?" Vila asked quietly, fearing to set Avon off again. The other man only stared, wide-eyed and blank faced, at him. Maybe he still couldn't understand Vila's words, or maybe he was still enmeshed in his nightmare, Vila thought. Responding to his own need, as well as sensing Avon's need of comfort, Vila drew him gently into an embrace. Immediately, Avon closed his eyes, curling himself about the thief, and began to shake violently. Vila was still mystified by what could cause his normally self-assured Alpha lover this much distress.

As the shaking subsided, Vila asked again, "Care to tell me about this?"

"No." The muffled answer came from the area of Vila's shoulder.

"It won't do you any good to keep it in, ya know. Besides," he said reasonably, "I'm here. You're not alone. You're always safe with me, Avon, you know that. Come on," he prompted quietly, gently, "tell me about your nightmare."

Avon glanced up at Vila, then looked away, staring dark-eyed and haunted into his memories. His voice soft, as from a distance, he began to relate his dream, his nightmare.

By the time Avon got to the demand that he put the chain around his neck, he was shaking violently again, had wrenched himself from Vila's embrace, and was sitting stiffly, his hands, white-knuckled, gripping the edge of their bed. Vila had remained silent throughout the recital, fearful that any interruption would stem the healing, he hoped, flow of words.

As Avon ended, he turned a tear-streaked face toward Vila, pleading, "What does it mean, Vila? I…never was abused by Blake, not that way. We were lovers, but he left me after Star One. I…loved him but I'm not sure I ever really liked him. He…manipulated all of us, but especially me, I always thought. After my…madness when I…abused you sexually, I thought I'd exorcised Blake from my life." His eyes begged for Vila's insight, as they had so many years ago when they'd been friends, then lovers in their youth.

Partial understanding dawned on Vila's face as everything he knew about Avon's past coalesced in a physically stunning picture. He thought he knew where all this had come from, but how could he help Avon through it without further damage, he wondered, looking into Avon's somehow fragile face.

Breathing a deep sigh, he began. "I think you've come to equate Blake with your father, Avon." That was all it took for the pieces to fall into place for Avon's logical mind. He gasped as though someone had physically punched him in the stomach. He hunched, naked, on the edge of the bed, his face hidden in his hands, silent for long moments. Vila scarcely breathed.

When his voice came again, it was low and weary. "I was born a twin, Vila, did I ever tell you that? The doctors knew there were two of us, but hadn't predicted the difficulties of our birth. My brother, bright-haired as I am dark, preceded me into the world, but I was close behind. I was in difficulty already, with my birth cord wrapped around my neck. They said I was already turning blue as I was born. The doctor and staff rushed to my aid because of my obvious difficulty, and missed my brother's less apparent distress. By the time I was safe, he was dead." Avon paused so long Vila wondered if he was finished.

Avon shook himself and continued, "My mother, as blond as my dead brother, I'm told, went into shock at the loss of him and shortly died, leaving me and my father alone together. He must have loved her deeply, because he hated ME greatly!"

Avon's bitter tone pierced Vila to the heart. He didn't interrupt but placed a soothing hand on Avon's shoulder. He was rewarded with a brief, sideways smile from his lover, a smile that flashed quickly and died the same way.

Avon straightened, staring at his tightly clasped hands. "My father blamed me for killing my brother and mother by just being born," he ground out. "He taunted me with my perceived inferiority, which only drove me to seek perfection in everything I did. It was never enough," he said, shaking his head with despair.

Suspicions and horror grew and lapped over Vila as Avon continued, in a small, hushed voice, to paint the picture of a child's abuse.

"It began early, even before I met you. I must have been three or four, I guess, when he started tying me up and shutting me in closets. Whenever he was drinking, I'd hide, but he always found me, no matter what bolt hole I found. His particular delight was to tie cord and belts around my neck to the point that I could barely breathe. He hit me with them too. Then he'd…" His voice trailed off in a sob.

Vila could no longer allow any distance between them. Slipping off the bed, he swiftly knelt before Avon and caught the stiff, unresisting man to his breast, all the while stroking his silky hair and murmuring nonsense.

When the sobs and shaking finally subsided, Avon pulled back and, not looking Vila in the eyes, continued in a low voice, "Do you know why I've never allowed you to call me Kerr?"

Startled at this seeming non sequitur, Vila replied, "Well, of course I'd wondered, but what has that…"

Avon rushed on, as though afraid to lose his hard-won momentum. "My…father," he said bitterly, "began abusing me sexually when you and I were seven or eight, I think. And…when he did, he said I wasn't worthy to be called an Avon, so he…called me Kerr, always."

Silence reigned. Vila was stunned speechless at this new cruelty.

Eventually, he said softly, "I suspected, you know, it was pretty hard to miss as we grew up. I…never brought it up 'cause I didn't want to hurt you more. I figured you'd tell me if you wanted to."

Another stretch of silence followed, as Avon absorbed this.

Vila, finally gathering his courage, asked gently, "Avon, what happened…to your father?"

The dark man stilled a moment, and Vila thought he wouldn't answer. Then Avon spat out savagely, "I KILLED HIM!"

Surprise made Vila draw back from the ferocity of the confession and the granite hard look on Avon's face.

"You shot him?" Vila asked, confused.

"Oh, no," Avon said chillingly and flashed that predator's smile of his. "I embezzled the five hundred million credits from HIM, through accounts HE was responsible for. He hung himself, rather fitting, I think, before I was caught," his smile died, "or before Anna turned me in."

"I'm sorry, Avon," Vila said, seeing the naked, raw pain in his friend.

Avon caught Vila's eyes with his own. "I'm glad I told you. I've kept it bottled up inside me all these years. I never told anyone before now. It feels…as if a planet has been lifted from my shoulders."

"You're shaking, Avon," Vila observed. "Are you still upset?"

Looking at the man kneeling before him, Avon's eyes suddenly sparkled and a fleeting half smile made Vila wonder what was coming next, but not for long.

Pulling Vila up into his arms, Avon kissed him with a hunger born of desperation, release, and need. Rolling them both onto the bed, he arranged them side by side, feeling Vila's comforting arms securely around him. He sighed mightily.

Vila chuckled in his ear and asked, "What are you thinking?"

After a moment's silence, Avon replied softly, tenderly, "I'm thinking how lucky I've been to have a friend like you all these years."

Vila smile and kissed Avon's shoulder tenderly. Drawing back slightly, he realized that Avon had drifted off to sleep, so he joined him.

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_A/N: It would seem that Avon has exorcised all of his demons at last. It should be smooth sailing for our boys, right?_

_Of course not! This is Blake's Seven, after all. Things begin to spiral out of hand with the next chapter/story, Foreshadow. Does Vila trust Avon? Should he?_


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